Crossing a Line
by Liannis
Summary: AU. In this story, Abby and Tim decided to join the FBI instead of NCIS. The team gets called in to assist the local police in catching a serial killer. Please read and comment. Sorry, but Tim and Abby will be the only NCIS characters to appear here.
1. Chapter 1

Ring! Ring! 

Claire heard it from across the room, grumbling under her breath. When you worked for the serial killer division of the FBI, it was never good to hear the phone ring. Coffee cup in hand, she answered the phone on the fourth ring.

"Special Agent Claire McKay."

"Claire," It was her boss Randall Levinson. "I want you to get your team together and get out to Reston, VA."

"What's up?"

"They've got a serial killer, and they need our help."

Claire raised a brow, a little bit surprised. "Usually we have to push our way in, boss. What's going on here?"

"Six murders in the past three weeks, and it looks like the guy's just getting started. They want our help to stem the tide. Is that enough of a reason for you?" Claire winced slightly at the irritation in Levinson's voice. Having the boss pissed off at you was no way to start the day.

"All right. I'll take Tim and head out there ASAP."

"Good. Detective Andrew Wilson will be your contact. His number is (703) 555-1209." Without saying goodbye, he hung up the phone, leaving Claire listening to dead air.

"Bye.." She said to no one in particular before hanging up the phone and turning around to see Tim watching her intently from his desk.

"What is it, Claire?"

"We're going to Reston, some whackjob has killed six people and it doesn't seem like he's stopping any time soon. They want us to shut him down."

Tim frowned, standing up from his desk. "We should get going."

"Yes, we should." As they headed to the door, Tim spoke up. "Do we know anything else?"

"No, but I guess we'll find out when we get there." Claire pulled out her cell, and dialed as she headed for the door.

--------------------- ---------------------------------------

Without incident, they arrived at the address Det. Wilson had given them and he was outside the house waiting for them. He watched Claire and Tim with the innate cynicism of a man who'd spent years on the job. A crowd of gawkers had formed behind the police tape watching quietly.

"Glad to see you didn't get lost."

Claire ignored the comment, instead choosing to focus on the matter at hand. "Nice to see you too. Where's the victim?"

"Victims," Detective Wilson corrected. "Mr and Mrs. Winchester." He held up the tape for Claire and Tim before leading the way into the house.

When they arrived in the master bedroom, the agents could see the two bodies laying face-down on the bed in a pool of blood as Det. Wilson continued. "As you can see, they were both shot in the head." Claire walked to one side of the bed as Tim stood in the doorway.

"However," Wilson lifted Mr. Winchester's head with his gloved hand. "Mr. Winchester did not go peacefully. Whoever did this broke his nose and knocked about five teeth out."

"So this was personal..." Tim interjected, standing at the foot of the bed.

"Sure seems that way," Claire added..

Det. Wilson nodded. "That's what we thought too. But, as far as we know, Mr. Winchester didn't have any enemies."

"He had at least one, obviously." Claire straightened up, with a sigh. "What about the other victims?"

"They were all found the same way, facedown in bed, shot in the head." He recited the information from memory. "We've got all the files back at the station."

Claire nodded. "We're going to need those and your forensic evidence too."

The detective raised a brow. "What's wrong with our lab?" Tim spoke up. "Nothing, it's just that the FBI has better equipment, and Abby."

"Ab-by? What's that, some new piece of equipment?"

Claire laughed. "No, Abby's the lab tech. She's the best at what she does, especially at finding connections where seemingly none exist."

"Oh. I hope she's as good as you say she is, because you're going to need it."

Claire and Tim looked at each other knowingly before Claire answered. "Don't worry, she is."

------------------- ------------------

Some time later, Tim and Claire made their way down to Abby's lab. As the doors opened, they were greeted with the screeching wail of her music at a volume that made normal conversation impossible. Abby stood in front of her computer, pigtails bouncing. After tapping a series of commands, she spun around to see them standing there and grinned. Pressing a button on her remote, the lab was plunged into silence.

"Hey guys..what'cha got for me?"

To answer her question, they dropped the file boxes on her table. "This is all the evidence the Reston Police Department has on the serial killer who's already claimed six lives."

Abby's perpetual smile vanished, and she frowned. "Right..so what do we know?"

Reaching into his box, Tim pulled out a folder and gave it to Abby. "Six victims, all found in bed and shot in the back of the head. All but one were physically assaulted prior to their deaths.

"What we need you to do Abby, is find out why the killer chose these people. The nature of their deaths seems to indicate that whatever this was, it was personal." Claire added, "We need to stop this guy."

"But it could be random..." Abby protested, gesturing with her empty Caf-Pow. "Some people kill just to kill..like Amati, Leopold and Loeb or..."

"Abby!" Claire interjected. . "We won't know that for sure until you do your job, so get to it."

Abby stopped midsentence, nodding at Claire. "All right, but there's a lot of stuff here to go through."

"Tim will help you, right Tim?" Abby grinned, opening the other box and looking over at Tim.

"Uh, yeah." Tim quickly continued. "Of course I'll help."

"Great, so get to it." As Tim and Abby started working, Claire left the lab.

-------------- ----------------------------------

A few hours later, Tim and Abby were still at work, and Abby was slurping loudly on another almost-empty Caf-Pow.

"There's nothing here, Tim. These people had nothing in common. They didn't use the same bank, the same doctor, work at the same place.. "

He rubbed his eyes. Staring at the computer screen and attempting to puzzle out this problem was giving him a headache. "But they all got killed in the exact same way within the span of a month, Abby..I can't believe it's just a coincidence. What about the forensic evidence?"

She bounced her way over to the computer, punching a few keys. "We had two prints that don't match the victims. I'm running them now, but I haven't found anything yet." As she finished speaking, the computer flashed 'Match Found'.

"Eureka, McGee, we have it!!" As the picture flashed, Tim opened his cell and called.

"Claire, it's Tim. We've got something."

In only a couple of minutes, Claire arrived in the lab. "What do you have?"

Abby grinned. "The two prints we found at the latest scene belong to Mr. Donald Briggs."

Claire nodded. "I want to know everything there is to know about Briggs, yes-"

"Two years ago, Donald Briggs was released from prison for the murder of Angela Smith, age 18. She dumped him, and he killed her as payback. He served eight years, and got out on good behavior." Tim interjected, reading off his own screen.

"Well, it's good to see he learned his lesson. Oh wait, he didn't.." Claire sighed heavily. "So he's upgraded from killing in the heat of passion to killing for fun.." She looked from Tim to Abby and back again. "We -need- to stop this guy."

Both Tim and Abby nodded in agreement. "Address?"

"1832 Pine Street."

"Tim, you're with me. Abby, keep working. I need to know if there's a connection between these people..."

"Yes, ma'am.." Abby gave a quick salute before turning back to her computer. Claire headed for the door, leaving Tim to catch up with her.

-------------- ----------------------------------

1832 Pine Street was a simple white house on a street surrounded by similar houses. No matter how much people liked to think they were different, Claire mused, it was all too easy to be living next door to a murderer and not even know it. As they pulled up to the curb, Tim turned to Claire.

"What's the plan?"

"We go in there and arrest him." There was a slight hint of amusement in her voice. "If he's there.."

"You don't think he will be?"

"He could be sneaking out the back door as we sit here yakking." Without waiting for Tim to respond, Claire opened the door and got out of the car. With a mildly embarrassed look, Tim followed her up to the front door.

"This is the FBI! Open up!" When there was no sound from the other side of the door, she kicked it hard. It took three kicks before the door gave way. With barely a nod between them, Tim and Claire began sweeping the house. In only a couple of minutes, they'd checked the entire place. Claire's suspicions had been correct, Briggs was gone.

"Claire, come here." Tim pointed to the coffee table, on which a variety of papers and photographs were spread out.

"What is it, Tim?" He picked up one of the photos in his gloved hand and showed it to her. "Look familiar?"

"It's Mr. And Mrs. Winchester.." It looked like a surveillance photo taken outside the couple's house.

Tim nodded. "Yeah, and Mr.Winchester has his face crossed out." He looked at the other pictures on the table. "These are all of Briggs' victims, six of them."

"I knew it wasn't a coincidence. So was he tracking them."

"Yeah, it looks like he's been spying on all of them."

"Anybody there who's not dead yet?"

"Nope."

"It was worth a shot. You need to get that stuff back to Abby. Maybe she can find something we missed. I'll get the cops started on processing the house."

Drawing her cell phone, Claire called Det.Wilson.

"Homicide, this is Wilson."

"This is Claire McKay. We met at the Winchester house. We've discovered who your murderer is."

"Well, how nice of you to tell us." Although it was nice to know who the killer was, the fact that the FBI just waltzed in and found out in under a day made the police look like idiots, and the detective -hated- looking like an idiot.

Claire continued, ignoring Wilson's tone. "His name is Donald Briggs, and Tim and I are at his house. Unfortunately, he's not."

"What? You went to his house without backup? Is that what they teach you guys in the FBI?"

Now it was Claire's turn to be irritated. She wasn't an idiot either. "I had Tim. Besides, we didn't need backup because as I already told you, Briggs wasn't there. What I need is for you guys to come out here and process the house."

"Oh, so we're the cleanup crew for the FBI now?"

Claire rolled her eyes, though the detective couldn't see it. "Listen..we can leave you to find Briggs if you want. It's not my fault we did in a day what you couldn't figure out in three weeks."

There was silence on the line for so long that Claire thought perhaps she'd been disconnected. In fact, she was on the verge of hanging up when Det. Wilson finally responded. "You'll get your team." Then, without another word, he hung up.

Tim, who had been half-listening to Claire's little exchange, looked over. "Are we leaving?"

"No, Tim, we're not." She sighed, rubbing her face with her hand. "I hate dealing with local cops."

-------------------------------- -------------------

Within the hour, a forensic team arrived at 1832 Pine St, led by Det. Andrew Wilson. He stomped up to Tim, glaring.

"Where's McKay??" Tim seemed unbothered by the detective's irritation. It was just a side effect of being an FBI agent.

"She's here somewhere." Claire tapped Wilson on the shoulder.

"I'm right here."

The frusrated detective whirled to face her. "The -next- time you storm a house, you damn well better let us know!"

Claire smirked. "Or what?" Her answer only served to irritate him further. "This isn't a game. Six people are already dead."

She narrowed her eyes, and when Claire spoke again, her voice was icy. "I'm not the one engaging in a pissing contest over jurisdiction. In case you haven't noticed, we're the ones who identified the killer. Now, if you don't mind, Tim and I have new evidence that we need to get back to Abby." Claire was beginning to sound like a broken record and it was pissing her off. Tim looked from Claire to the detective before grabbing the box with Briggs' papers and following her out the door.

"Damn FBI.." Wilson muttered. The part that irritated him the most was that she was right and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

------------------------- -------------------------

Ring...Ring..

Claire answered the phone. "McKay."

"I see you identified the murderer. Now find the bastard." It was Levinson again, showing off his people skills..

"I'm fine, sir. Thanks for asking."

"You're not there for small talk, Agent McKay. You are there to catch Briggs and send his miserable ass to prison or the chair."

"Should I shoot him in the head too?" She'd been with the FBI long enough to know what her job was and how to do it. Unfortunately, the bigger the case, the more people she had trying to tell her how to do the job.

"Don't be smart, just do your damn job." With that, he hung up. Claire sighed, and hung up the phone.

--------------------- ------------------

Abby stood in front of the table where all of Briggs's notes and pictures were spread out . Picking up a sheet of paper, she started reading his notes, her brow furrowing in thought.

"Hey McGee, .listen to these notes on Mr. Winchester. 'Arrogant bastard, thinks he's better than me..'"

He picked up another sheet, and started reading. "Here are notes on the first victim, Jasmine Peterson. 'Stupid bitch..'" He paused, slightly confused. "'Who is she to be judging me anyway?'" Putting down the paper, he looked over at Abby. "Better than me, judging me...what is this?"

She frowned. "I don't know, but I think it may be the key to this whole thing.":

Suddenly, Tim had an idea. "Abby, do a search for me. Check police and court records for the names of Briggs' victims in Fairfax County."

"Of course." Turning back to the computer, her fingers flew rapidly over the keys as she customized her query. "You do know this could take a while, right?"

Tim shrugged. "It's the only lead we've got at the moment, Abby."

"Well, well, look what we have here." Abby's customized search had a hit already. "All of the victims and Briggs in one tidy place. I added his name to the search too."

"Really? What is it?"

Tim read the screen, and pulled out his cell as Abby continued reading. It took only a minute or two before Claire arrived in the lab.

"Hey, Claire." Abby bounced up from her seat. "We found the connection.."

"And?"

"They were all jurors in the Angela Smith trial."

"Briggs' girlfriend?"

"Yep."

"What about the other six jurors?"

"Well, three of them have moved out of the area since Briggs went to prison, to New York, Des Moines, and Baton Rouge." Tim replied, feeling fairly safe in his answer.

"Are they still alive?"

"I-I don't know." He admitted, thinking that perhaps he'd patted himself on the back a little prematurely.

"Then find out." Tim nodded, leaving the lab to start making phone calls as Claire turned back to Abby. "Good work."

She grinned, pleased by the compliment. "The search was actually McGee's idea, I just thought of adding Briggs' name to it."

"And the three that are still alive?"

Abby handed Claire a sheet of paper listing the names and addresses. "I knew you'd want them, so here they are."

"I want you to check on the lawyers, the judge, even the court reporter and the baliff. Who knows who else might have been on Briggs' little hit list."

"Sure thing, Claire."

As Claire left Abby's lab, she knew that forensics didn't mean shit if you couldn't catch the bad guy, and Briggs was proving to be a challenge.


	2. Chapter 2

Ring..Ring...Ring.

"McKay.."

"Claire, it's Tim. Of the three jurors in the Briggs case who left the area, two of them are dead, killed the same way as his other six victims. No evidence was found at either scene, and police had no leads."

"Fuck. And the third?"

"Michelle Spencer, formerly Michelle Monroe, moved to Des Moines, Iowa. She filed a police report about a masked stranger assaulting her in her kitchen. She clubbed him with a skillet and managed to get away. "

"She's the only one, then, and one lucky woman. When was this?"

"Last night."

"I want Mrs. Spencer placed in protective custody. On second thought, I want you to go out there, get her, and bring her back in. Maybe she can give us some insight into this whole Briggs situation."

"All right."

"Call me when you get there, and when you get back. Since Det. Wilson is pissed about being left out of the loop, why don't you take him with you?"

"What? You want me to take him with me? You think he'll go for that?" Saying that Tim was shocked by Claire's suggestion would be putting it mildly.

Claire smirked. "Actually, I do. He's got an equal investment in solving this case, and it would make him look good to his bosses. Haven't met a cop yet -that- wouldn't appeal to."

"Ok." The resignation in his voice was obvious. "Goodbye, Claire."

"Bye."

Tim hung up the phone, rushing out of the building and to the car, not looking forward to the conversation he was going to have with Det. Wilson.

-------------- ---------------

"I'm here to see Det. Andrew Wilson."

The policewoman behind the counter didn't blink an eye, didn't even look at him. Instead, she continued to look down at her paperwork. "And you are?"

With a low sigh, Tim drew his badge, holding it up. "Special Agent McGee, FBI."

Finally, she did look up at him, a slight smirk on her lips as she verified his credentials. "Well, well..I'll be sure to let Det. Wilson know you're here, Special Agent McGee. Why don't you sit down and wait?"

"I'll stand."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself." Placing her pen down, she left, returning a minute later with Det. Wilson, who seemed a little surprised to see McGee at all.

"Something I can help you with, Agent McGee?"

"Yes, there is. Claire wants you to go with me to Des Moines and pick up Michelle Spencer. Briggs tried to attack her, and she's the only one who's survived so far."

Det. Wilson shook his head laughing to himself. "First, you guys want to do everything yourself, now you want my help. Just like the Feds."

In response, the FBI agent shrugged. "Fine. You don't want in? Forget I asked."

"No, I'll help bail you guys out." Wilson's tone was almost jovial now, and Tim already knew the rules of this game. If it helped them catch Briggs, Tim was willing to play along.

"Let's go, then. It's a long drive.."

Wilson merely nodded as they headed for the door.

--------------------------- -----------------------

Hours later, Tim and Det. Wilson stood in front of Michelle Spencer's door. She and her husband lived in a subdivision, a fact Wilson could not miss commenting on.

"Everything looks the same around here. How do they make it home without getting lost, going into the wrong house?"

"They look for house numbers? Street signs?"

Wilson smirked. "Ever tried doing that drunk? Or while on a cell phone?"

"Well, no," Tim admitted, "but it can't be that hard, and we're here."

"You think." Wilson said, that smirk growing just a little wider as he got out of the car.

"No, I know." Tim pointed to the mailbox for confirmation. "See, Mr.and Mrs. Spencer."

"Fine, fine..whatever, just keep an eye out for pod people."

By this time, they'd made it to the front door, and Tim knocked twice. The door opened, and a rather shocked woman stood there in her bathrobe staring at Det. Wilson. For once, Wilson was silent as well, leaving Tim to break the awkward silence by flashing his badge.

"Ma'am, . I'm Special Agent Tim McGee, and this is Detective Andrew Wilson. Are you Michelle Spencer?

She nodded, turning her attention to McGee. "Yes, I am. What is this about?"

"The incident at your home last night. We have reason to believe it's tied to an ongoing investigation."

"Of course...come in." She stepped aside so the two men could enter, closing the door behind them. "Can I get you anything?"

"We're fine, ma'am." Tim answered as he sat down on the living room couch. Wilson remained unmoved at his position by the door. Michelle Spencer sat perched on the edge of what must have been her husband's La-Z-Boy, arms wrapped tightly over her chest. "What investigation?"

"The Briggs case. He's already murdered eight of the twelve jurors, and we have reason to believe he tried to kill you.last night."

The color drained from Michelle's face as she covered her mouth with a hand. "Oh god, no.." she whispered. "I think I'm going to be sick..." She squeezed her eyes shut, as if she could hide from the awful truth these two strangers just dumped in her lap. "What in the hell was Briggs doing out of prison anyway? He was supposed to rot there!"

"He got out on good behavior, ma'am." Tim answered, not even noticing Wilson move until the detective knelt besides Rebecca's chair. "You're going to be fine Mich-, Mrs. Spencer." Tim's eyebrow raised, but he said nothing.. "You're going to come back with us to Reston. The FBI wants your help to catch Briggs. You'll be safe, I promise."

Wilson's words seemed to comfort Mrs. Spencer, and she nodded. "I-I should go change. I can't leave the house like this."

Detective Wilson smiled a little and Tim answered her. "That would be a good idea. We'll wait down here for you." No sooner had Mrs. Spencer gone upstairs than Tim asked, "What the hell was that?"

"What?"

"Those googoo eyes you were giving Mrs. Spencer, or are you like that with all the women you investigate?"

The question earned him a glare from Wilson that could melt steel. "No." His voice was softer as he continued. "You didn't tell me our Michelle Spencer used to be Michelle Monroe."

Tim paused in quiet recognition. "She's an ex of yours, isn't she?"

The detective nodded. "Yeah. The old cliche, high school sweethearts. We ended it right before she left for college, but I always assumed we'd get back together after she graduated.." He ran his hand through his hair, smiling just a little at the memory. "By the time she came back from college, she had a degree and a fiancee."

"And you still love her." It wasn't a question, merely a statement of what had been blatantly obvious since she opened the door.

"I do."

--------------------- ------------------------------------------------

"Do what?" She stood on the stairs, hands resting against the railing as she watched the two investigators. Tim looked over at Det. Wilson, but said nothing. "I run the mile in three-minutes, don't I Tim?"

Tim nodded, thankful it wasn't his problem. "That's what you said, all right."

She rolled her eyes at the two of them, completely disinterested in what appeared to be male posturing. "Shall we go then?"

"Of course." The three of them left, with Det. Wilson holding the door for Ms. Spencer, and Tim bringing up the rear.

-------------------------- -----------------------------------------------

As the car pulled up to the field office, Tim was relieved that the trip had been uneventful to the point of being dull. The only hints of tension came when Ms. Spencer mentioned her husband, away on business. The changes in Det. Wilson's face and body posture weren't significant, but that's what the training had taught him.

"So why did you guys have to bring me back here again?" she asked, getting out of the vehicle. "If this Briggs guy is the one who attacked me, wouldn't he be in Des Moines, where I don't know, he attacked me??"

"We think that he's going to come after you again, and it would be better if you were under the protection of the FBI instead of your local police." Tim added.

As they entered the office, Claire stood up from behind her desk, crossing the floor to greet them. She extended her hand to Ms. Spencer. "I'm Special Agent Claire McKay. "

Michelle shook Claire's hand, handling things remarkably well. "How can I help you, Agent McKay?"

Claire smiled. "Well, first, you can call me Claire. Second, what do you remember about the Briggs case?'

Michelle nodded. "Of course, Claire." Her brow furrowed in thought. "Briggs spent most of the trial in shock, like he couldn't believe this was happening to him. He kept insisting that he didn't murder Angela, that somebody else did it. But, criminals do that all the time, right?"

Michelle's eyes grew wide, and the color drained from her face. "He did it...didn't he? Oh my god...what if he was innocent all along, and we sent him to prison with rapists and murderers?"

Det. Wilson put his hand on her shoulder. "Whether or not he killed Angela, he's killed at least eight people now. He is a murderer."

Michelle spun to face him, knocking his arm free. "And what does that make -us- if he didn't kill Angela? Accomplices?" She crossed her arms over her chest, eyes squeezed tightly closed as she muttered to herself. "Oh god...what have we done?"

Claire grabbed Michelle by her shoulders, turning her around. "Michelle, listen to me. You and eleven other people convicted Briggs for Angela's murder. You didn't just do that on a whim." Her voice was stern in the attempt to bring Michelle back to reality.

"Besides, almost everybody who goes to prison claims they didn't do it. It's almost an in-joke. " Tim added, causing Claire, Det. Wilson, and Michelle to all look at him. "What? It's true.." he shrugged.

Claire shook her head, before turning her attention back to Michelle. "Did he ever give any indication of who he thought it was that killed Angela?"

"No, he didn't."

"Tim, I want all the evidence on Angela's murder brought to Abby. We need to cover all our bases in this thing, and if Briggs didn't do it, I want to know who did."

"Right." Tim left to go make phone calls, and get the wheels moving.

"Can we get you anything, Michelle?"

She shook her head, sitting down in the closest available chair. "My life back.."

Claire and Wilson looked at each other. "We'll have to catch Briggs for that, and we will." 


	3. Chapter 3

Followed by Tim and Det. Wilson, Claire stormed into Abby's lab. The raven-haired lab tech didn't even notice them, her fingers flying over her keyboard. Claire looked at Tim, then back to Abby. With a nod, Tim turned off the radio, causing Abby to wheel about in her chair.

"Hey? What the–" She grinned at the new visitors. "Hey Claire, Tim...and new guy."

Det. Wilson could only stare at Abby. There was no way a lab technician with the Reston police department would be able to get away with so many violations of the dress code. In fact, he was left wondering she made it through the metal detector in the morning. As if reading his mind, Tim leaned over. "They don't check her."

Abby's grin grew impossibly wider. "It took them fifteen minutes last time they tried, and the people behind me in line were quite irritated."

"I see.." Claire rolled her eyes. "Abby, did Briggs kill Angela?"

"No, he did not. They cops didn't have the advances in DNA technology we have today. The DNA evidence found at Angela's murder was hers, and someone else's. I can conclusively prove that other person was -not- Briggs." Abby loved a good mystery, and the conviction of an innocent man certainly qualified.

"Damn.." Wilson swore under his breath, dreading the inevitable conversation with Michelle. How was he going to tell her she'd convicted an innocent man?

Claire, however, remained focused on the task at hand, her expression remaining unchanged. "Do we know who -did- kill Angela?"

Abby turned back to the computer, where faces were scrolling by at an indistinguishable rate. "Nope. I'm running the DNA through all the databases I can find. If he's out there, I'll find him."

Claire nodded. "That's good, Abby."

The sound of a ringing cell phone led to a search for whose was going off, and it was Det. Wilson's. Stepping away from the others, he took the call. As Abby, Claire, and Tim exchanged looks, the goth lab tech piped up, "I get the feeling this is bad news."

Claire sighed, rubbing the back of her neck with her hand. "Abby, it's the FBI. Has it -ever- been good news?"

When Wilson turned back to face them, the look on his face was a familiar mix of frustration and anger.

"Briggs struck again. Two of the remaining jurors are dead."

"What the hell?" Claire yelled, glaring at the detective. "Whatever happened to protective custody? Were you guys sitting outside eating donuts instead of doing their fucking jobs?" Tim and Abby glanced at each other before taking a large step back. Neither one of them wanted to be caught in the middle of this fight.

"They were dead before the police got there. Same MO, killed execution style." He glared right back, unfazed by Claire's anger. "Unlike the FBI, we're not allowed to just break down doors without probable cause."

Claire let the smartass comment slide for now. "Don't blame this shit on me. You Keystone Kops would still be sitting on your hands if it hadn't been for us."

"So Briggs has killed all the jurors but Mrs Monroe?" Tim asked. "Not all of them," Abby corrected him, "there's still one more." A brief tapping of keys, and a new picture appeared on Abby's screen. "Nick Wall. He was the jury foreman in Angela's murder."

"So he's saving him for last?" Tim sounded surprised. "You would think he'd take him out first.."

Claire shook her head. "He's probably enjoying the fact that Wall has no idea what's coming his way."

"I should go tell Michelle what we found out." Det Wilson muttered on his way to the door.

Quickly, Claire grabbed his arm. "You're telling her nothing at this point. All it will do is freak her out." Her voice was stern, and she wasn't letting go of his arm, but he tried anyway.  
"She deserves to know..her life is in danger."

"Yes, and she's safe here. You want to upset her unnecessarily?"

Det. Wilson paused before sighing audibly, nervously brushing the hair out of his face. "No, no, I don't."

------------------ -------------------

On the other side of town, Nick Wall sighed.

"Do you guys have to camp out in my living room?"

"Yes. Your life is in danger, and we're here to protect you."

"Well, keep your feet off the couch." The older cop snickered as the younger one sat up quickly, an embarrassed blush tinting his cheeks. "I'm going out to get the mail." The older cop simply nodded, following Nick to the door, and standing there, watching for any threats.

Nick reached into the mailbox, pulling out a stack of letters and walking back up to the house, already going through them.

"Bill, bill, advertisement...what's this?" His hand rested on a pink tinted envelope with the faint odor of Chanel No 5. Nick elbowed the cop with a big grin as he slit open the envelope. The writing on the paper was unfamiliar as he read it out loud.

"Say goodbye, Nick.."

"Wha–" was all he got out before the envelope exploded, bathing Nick's living room in chunks as two bloodied torsos toppled over in opposite directions. The silence was punctuated only by the sound of vomiting and church bells ringing in the distance. Almost a block away, a gray car started up, and Briggs drove off grinning maliciously..

"Only one left..."

----------------- --------------------------------------

A ringing punctuated the silence, and this time, it was Claire's phone.

"McKay. What? You have got to be kidding me?" Three heads whipped to face Claire, listening intently to her conversation. "And the police escort?" She sighed heavily. "Fucking great. We'll be right there." As Claire hung up, Wilson asked. "What happened?"

"Nick Wall is dead, along with one of his two police escorts."

"A shooting?"

Claire shook her head. "No. This time it was a bomb."

"A bomb?" Tim asked, his brows raised in curiosity. "Why would Briggs use a bomb? He shoots people."

"Because, McGee," Abby grinned, "Briggs knew he couldn't get to Wall that way with a police escort. Come on...it's obvious."

"Oh.."

This new development seemed to bother Wilson more than anything except the appearance of Michelle Monroe. Claire noticed, and tapped his arm.

"Are you all right?"

Ignoring Claire's question, the sullen detective asked one of his own. "Which of Wall's escorts died?"

"The senior officer, Mulcahey."

At first, Wilson's only response was the sound of a chair skittering across the floor as he kicked it. "Damn it."

"You knew him?"

"Knew him? He was my training officer when I started, taught me everything that the books didn't." The detective's eyes narrowed, and his next words were a growl. "That fucking bastard is going down if I have to shoot him myself."

Claire sighed, a detective on a vendetta was just about the last thing she needed right now.

"Wilson.." When he didn't respond, she cleared her throat, stepping into his line of sight. "Wilson!" He blinked, as surprised as if Claire had formed out thin air.

"What?"

"You need to keep that temper of yours in check, or you'll be handing Briggs an appeal. Is that what you want?"

"If I shoot him, it won't matter, will it?"

"And if you lose your job for shooting him, doesn't he win after all?"

Wilson tried to come up with an answer, but once again, Claire had a point. His only response was a muttered "Damn.."

"Tim, take Detective Wilson, get out there, and start collecting evidence." The junior agent nodded. "Right away."

"Abby, what about the lawyers and the judge?"

She shrugged, "Nothing. No threats, no shootings, nothing. If he was going to attack them, he'd at least have tried by now."

Claire rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Well, at least that's a small favor. Did we get an ID on Angela's murderer yet?"

"Nope. Nothing yet, but the sheer number of people available to match it too is quite amaz–"

She waved her hand, cutting Abby off midsentence. "All right."

---------------- --------------------

Tim's knuckles were white where he'd been gripping the seat as Det. Wilson sped toward Nick Wall's house. It was a wonder they'd managed to make it there in one piece at all, not that he'd say such a thing to Wilson. One thing Tim had learned working with Claire was when to keep his mouth shut.

As Tim sat musing, Wilson got out of the car, slamming the door. The noise prompted Tim to follow suit, since Wilson was halfway to the house by now. The detective stopped a few feet from the door, frozen in place as he stared at the carnage. Tim had seen worse, but not recently, and for a moment, they both struggled to maintain composure and keep their lunches.

The junior officer came to meet them at the door, purposely avoiding looking at what was left of his partner.

"Where were you when this fucking freak took out Patrick?"

The object of Wilson's rage had the common sense to look down. "On the couch. But, this guy was a shooter..who would have thought about a bomb?"

"You should have..." Wilson punctuated his words with a finger in the officer's chest, right over the badge. "That's. your. fucking. Job."

"Hey, Mulcahey didn't see it coming either.." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the color drained from the officer's face. There were some lines you didn't cross, and that was a big one.

The remark made Wilson's barely contained rage boil to the surface. "You smug little bastard. Why don't you tell Elizabeth he's not coming home? I'll let you go explain to Kimberly and Brad why Daddy should have seen it coming. You fucking bastard..." The fact that this had gotten ugly really quickly was not lost on Tim and he stepped between the two of them, turning his attention first to the junior officer. "Why don't you take a walk?" Now." As he skittered away, Wilson's eyes followed him. If looks could kill, the detective would be in cuffs right now. 


End file.
